My first kitchen was the size of a large cupboard. It had a butler sink, a small larder cupboard, a gas cooker on feet that looked as if it might have trotted in from a museum, and a bathtub concealed beneath the counter.
My second was still small but pleasingly square, with a large window overlooking a busy London street. I’d emptied every pocket to buy this tiny flat, so I had no money for expensive improvements.